


Paragraph Stories #1

by deathblossoms



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, a little bit of trauma for all three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms/pseuds/deathblossoms
Summary: Baptiste has a realisation in the quiet of the night, Soldier: 76 can't escape the past catching up to him and Reaper finds that things don't always go to plan when the hunt for a traitor makes a surprising turn.A collection of short character stories from prompts written with friends.
Kudos: 5





	1. I - midnight | baptiste

**Author's Note:**

> Just some reflection when one can't sleep, a Baptiste coming to terms with the fact the good life isn't a good life at all.
> 
> Prompt; midnight.

_Hands stained in blood are just that, no water can wash it away._

It's something that stays with you. With the night brought a wandering silence, less noise and company to drown out the thoughts that stirred in his mind. Without distraction or chatter everything conveniently hidden away bubbled to the surface, and after the mission today sleep was unknown to him, twisted in sheets and fixated on the ceiling in his dimly lit room. This isn't what he'd intended, but he supposed anything good in his life had to come with a hefty price. They were no different from any other organisation, only doing what benefit their needs.

He can feel the sweat beading down his body, each time he attempted to close his eyes a memory of earlier that night flashed by. Panic forced them open again and he would toss and turn in the hopes of forgetting. He'd been too cowardly to speak up at the time, just stared at the mess they'd made and moved on, but on the inside he'd wept, holding concern for what the lifeless man on the floor had done wrong to meet that end and never getting an answer. And he should have _known_ , he should have known; the people he'd observed, the tricky wording and all the hoops jumped, the state of the higher ups... he can't save the unknowing, the fresh blood they mislead by the day, there's too many of them and he is only one man. But he doesn't have to be _one_ of them.

Baptiste sat up.

If sleep wasn't going to come to him, a plan would, instead.


	2. II - a haunting | jack morrison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time Jack receives new news, his heart drops just that little bit more. 
> 
> Prompt; a haunting.

His dry, weary eyes fell upon that _(1)_ that had just appeared in his inbox and he felt a clench in his gut of dread and anticipation that bitterly clashed with the whiskey already in his system. It was a simple link to an article, with a small sentence hovering above it, no signature;

_“Even if you swear to walk with god, the Devil keeps following.”_

Another hit, another fallen. The worst thing was he actually recognised the face; almost convenient the man in question had never seen eye to eye with Reyes and he'd wound up dead – go figure. Reyes had probably enjoyed it in some sort of bittersweet and poetic revenge, that dramatic old bastard. Jack tensed his jaw, downing the last of his glass and slamming it down hard on the makeshift desk, fingers clenched around it.

The times Morrison had thought even for a moment that there was a calm, the storm always arrived in a deathly torrent. Reyes waited long enough to be forgotten and would strike hard enough to leave lasting damage, each and every time. Words from years ago echoed in his mind; _'if we don't do something, you're going to need a lot more flags.'_ Ironic how the years could change a man – yet every year was the same, endlessly remembering the war and how it always came back to the same man. A bottle of whiskey wouldn't erase shit, and nothing ever would.

In that moment it was difficult not to feel entirely hopeless, a struggle not to think with agitating hindsight; he remembered an offhand statement of Reyes' about the deceased, 'someday, he'll get what's coming to him.' That jest, the shrug, the sneer in his delivery. Reyes had always had a twisted sense of humour. It felt like it was a joke back then, but he should have known Reyes meant his words more often than not.

He could feel the chills rise beneath his collar and he suddenly felt ill, tearing open the leftover bottle of whiskey and downing what he could in a gulp.

It was then he had to close his eyes for a moment, the face of the victim now etched in his mind to accompany the set already taking up residence there. Death was a running theme in the game of war – but it was funny how long after the collapse of Overwatch he still accounted for those deaths, Jack Morrison continued to carry the burden and be weighed down by ghosts. Because he hadn't stopped _him._

That mask appeared in his mind and his eyes are wide open. He could swear in the corner of his hazed vision he saw the shadows move among the darkness beyond his screen and he darted with a double take, back now straightened in his seat.

This night would be a long one.


	3. III - misfortune | reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things don't always go according to plan. Reyes should know better dealing with ex-Blackwatch agents.
> 
> Prompt; misfortune.

> **I EXPECTED THIS, REYES. NOW WE ALL EXPECT IT. THEY KNOW THE TRUTH.**

Words left on an open console for him to read, an obvious set up that crawled under his skin and lingered in his veins. He clenched his own fist with such strength he could feel his claws digging into his own palm, his jaw making an audible _crack._

The dominoes had never stopped falling, not since that cursed day everything had gone so terribly wrong. It was only inevitable this moment would happen, of course it would. Blackwatch had always contained the best of the best, the smart and the gutsy. Back then he'd been proud. Of course it would be an ex-Blackwatch agent most likely to keep tabs on their old employer, of course. All the more reason to suspect a certain pesky mole, except, things didn't always go to plan. No, he'd only been warning the others, and now they knew the Reaper was coming. That would certainly make things... _difficult._

“Nothing's ever easy...” He grumbled to himself, before calmly drawing one of his Hellfires and firing, sending the equipment and the smug little message flying into the nearest wall with a satisfying smash. He chuckled to himself at the sight of the smoke and dying sparks.

“... _much_ better.”

As the destruction dwindled into silence he could swear he heard a faint beeping and curiously tilted his head towards the annoyance, tracing it across the room. It was then he caught sight of the small red light and hissed at the sight.

But by then, it was too late.

The wall and its surroundings tore apart with a loud bang and the Reaper was quick to wraith out of harm's way, though not without the kisses of shrapnel and searing heat leaving their marks and sealing over. He hissed at their touch, the temporary wounds sparking old memories that ventured further than the flesh, a memory of cursed Switzerland. It was enough of a deterring message to have the Reaper leaving in a plume of furious smoke.

Their threat may have gone with a bang, but their grave had now been made.

The Reaper would not be made a fool.


End file.
